Treasure Hunting in the Longleaf Pine Woods

Do you remember those springtime afternoons when you were a kid and didn't come in the house until dark, maybe even sunburned and a little sweaty from your adventures? You didn't come until your mom whistled you in for the third time.

I had a day like that recently . What a day. I would give anything to have my mother or father here, alive, calling me up from the woods: "Mary Beth! Come on in. It's time for supper!"

My husband, Buck, our chocolate Labrador retriever, Maggie and I walked to the gate this morning to pick up the newspaper. The climbing rose bush there has several buds with vibrant color just beginning to peek out. The yellow Carolina Jessamine on the other side of the gate looks friendly, its bright flowers nodding in the breeze.

Mid-day, we ate a lunch of leftover grilled chicken on the screened porch, talked about the newly planted little pine trees, local politics, the stock market, and the arrival of goldfinches at the bird feeder.

Late in the day, when Buck was working out on his weight bench, I felt the ineluctable lure of the Longleaf woods. Grabbing my camera, I stepped out onto the porch barefoot, found my discarded socks and jogging shoes, and headed out. It was a warm afternoon. To make sure Maggie didn't wander off into the woods and surprise a rattlesnake, I left her at home with Buck.

Treasure hunting was my game, and I hoped to find some newly emerging bloom, moss or lichen. I turned off the main dirt road onto a recently plowed fire line and was nearly blinded by the setting sun. I poked ahead of my steps with a stick more from superstition than practical benefit. The plowed soil was like a superhighway for critters: deer and raccoon tracks were the most obvious; others not so easily identified. This was new territory for me, and I was thoroughly absorbed. Looking to my right, I noticed the bushes had become trees, and the woods were deep and braided with well-traveled animal trails. Shadows began to loom, and I heard odd knocking sounds from within those woods.

"Don't go into the woods at night.
The woods will give you a terrible fright."

I began to hum this old childhood tune. Stopped. A clearing opened several more steps ahead. I wanted to go there. It looked interesting. I stood at attention, one foot up, my nose almost twitching, sniffing the breeze. Suddenly, whirling, I ran back the way I had come, my heart beating fast enough that I could feel a pounding sensation. I ran, looking back over my shoulder, forgetting about snakes or mud or holes in the ground, until -- with a sigh of relief, I was back at the intersection of the fire line and the main, familiar trail.

Oh, there was still plenty of light, after all, to go back to see the orange "Goldilocks" spores in the moss patch. Leaving the lovely moss, I walked back to the main road a different way, a slightly longer way, near the edge of a boggy area. Peering into the thick brush, I could barely believe my eyes. There was a single pink bloom of a pitcher plant. Yes! My treasure hunt over for the day, I crouched low to take a picture, then wandered homeward, ready for a hot shower and lotion for sunburned shoulders.